


Breaking Chad

by CGotAnAccount



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frat Boy Shiro, M/M, Praise Kink, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M, bff katt, extra thirst, shiro/keith/matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19734733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: “Dude. We have to.” Keith slaps Matt on the arm as the other boy thirsts into the distance. “Are you even listening to me?”“Never.” Matt slides him a grin, barely taking his eyes off the absolute prime rib doing push-ups in the quad. “And I'm not arguing with you... we just gotta be smart about it.”OrKatt sets their sights on unsuspecting Frat Boy Shiro





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to, and I'm not sorry.

“Dude. We have to... we _have_ to.” Keith slaps Matt on the arm as the other boy thirsts into the distance. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Never.” Matt slides him a grin, barely taking his eyes off the absolute prime rib doing push-ups in the quad. “And I'm not arguing with you... we just gotta be smart about it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Keith rolls his eyes and turns back to where Adonis has paused mid-rep to talk to an encroaching squirrel. “He's probably making a 'deez nuts' joke to that little guy right now, how hard can it be?”

“Hopefully we'll find out.” Matt smirks, eyebrows waggling before he jerks his head back to the hottie. “But he might not even be gay.”

“In those little rainbow shorts?” Keith squints at Matt, seriously questioning his best friend's gaydar. “What else would he be, a meteorology enthusiast?”

Shrugging, Matt pulls a bottle from his bag, suddenly thirsty as the guy switches to glute bridges. “Could be one of those dudes who does it to get chicks.” The guy thrusts up right as Matt tips his head back and the water goes pouring down his front.

“Nice one.”

“Shut up fucker.” The guy is still holding, looking rock solid from their safe creeping distance. “It's not like you're not two seconds from blowing your load just looking at his pecs.”

“They're nice pecs.” Keith shrugs, imagining how they'd feel against his hands. “It'd be an honor to decorate them.”

“Yeah, okay Romeo.” Matt grunts as he wipes the front of his shirt down. “With your cursed ass he's probably with the silver haired chick he was walking with the other day.”

“I'm not cursed, asshole.” Keith gives him a shove and crosses his arms. “I found your goofy ass didn't I?”

Matt levels him with a flat look. “I moved into your dorm and unpacked my dildos on the first day.”

Keith sniffs, turning his head aside to watch the glistening man. “They could've been modern art.”

“Yeah.” Matt snarks, eyes rolling, “Lemme just get one of those Warhol soup cans to shove up my asshole next time – it's the aesthetic I'm after.”

Barking a laugh, Keith shoves him again with a smile.

“I hate you.”

“You're about to hate me a lot more.” Matt grins and takes off sprinting toward the quad.

Right toward hot guy.

“Oh that fucker...” Keith growls, dropping his bag and tearing after Matt, but it's too late.

He's gotten enough of a head start that Keith's still a good twenty feet away when Matt 'trips' and throws himself unceremoniously onto the prime specimen of man.

“Oh my god, I am _so_ sorry!” Matt simpers, scrambling half off the guy as he brushes grass from his pecs and straddles a thigh. “I was chasing a frisbee and didn't see you, are you okay?”

The guy groans, hands going to Matt's hips to steady him as he sways. “Yeah, I'm good, are you?”

His voice is whiskey on the rocks and they're drunk already.

“Oh, yeah.” Matt sighs, quirking a little smile through his lashes. “I'm much better now.”

“ _Matt_.” Keith hisses, jogging the last few feet to shove Matt off the guy's lap. “Jesus let the man up.”

“Oh, it's not-”

“I'm Keith.” The smile he aims at the guy as he holds a hand down to him is his best approximation of suave – though Hunk once told him it was a little murdery. “I'm sorry about him... he gets excited about sports.”

A huge palm engulfs his own, biceps bulging as the guy braces and hauls himself up.

And up.

Until Keith is eye level with a very sexy jawline.

“You're um... tall.”

“Oh... yeah?”

The guy has his head cocked with a funny little smile on his face when Matt hip checks Keith out of the way and takes his hand to shake it.

“Sorry about him.” He pumps it once, admiring the size of his fingers with raised eyebrows before winking at the poor guy. “Keith can't throw for shit and gets excited about hot guys.”

“Hey!” Keith glares up at him from the ground, disgruntled and disheveled. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, ah... ha.” The guy drags a hand through his hair, scratching at the fade near his neck. “Yeah I guess who wouldn't right?” His laugh is strained as he stoops to grab his discarded bottle. “Well, I uh gotta go... it was nice meeting you.”

And then he's jogging away, pecs bouncing and body glistening in the afternoon sun.

Keith scrambles to his feet and punches Matt hard on the shoulder.

“Jackass!”

“Ow - what the fuck!” Matt yelps, swatting at his assailant. “Get off me!”

“You fucking tackled the poor guy!” Keith growls and jabs a finger in the direction of his retreating back. “He literally ran away from us.”

“I mean...” Matt hedges, adjusting his glasses. “Technically yes... but did you see what he was working with?”

“No.” Keith scowls and spits into the grass. “You were straddling his thigh and squeezing his tits, all I could see was how desperate you are.”

“Okay, rude.” Matt holds up one finger and jabs it into Keith's forehead to push him back out of his space. “That was an exploratory mission for your sake.”

“Oh yeah, I'm sure.” Keith scoffs and swats at Matt's hand. “You really took one for the team there.”

“More importantly, we're gonna take _that_ monster for our team later.” Matt's practically drooling as he watches the swish of the guy's shorts in the distance. “I could feel that thing from his knee – and don't even get me started on how those meat pillows felt.”

“I won't.” Keith grits out, kicking a patch of grass. “Because he _ran away_.” He drags a hand down his face and scowls at Matt's answering shrug. “Now we're just 'those creepy dudes' and we don't even know his name.”

“Nope.” Matt grins, glasses flashing in the light as he grabs the guy's discarded tanktop, emblazoned with 'ΘΩΤ' across the front. “We've got one better.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, god – don't get a boner, don't get boner, don't get a boner,” Shiro chants to himself as he jogs away from the two hot guys and his tattered dignity. “Not in these shorts, don't get a boner.”

It's not like anyone could really blame him if he did – he'd been manhandled within an inch of his life when the poor guy tripped and sprawled across him, and the guy with dark hair looked like he'd eat him alive in the best way – anyone with a pulse would feel his struggle right now.

But that doesn't make his shorts any longer.

“Taxes, calculus, Lance's abuela...” He pinches his eyes shut and tries to flex his thighs harder to redirect the blood flow. “Capitalism, meat packing... wait no, not meat packing, _shit._ ”

It's barely helping, he can still feel that simmering in his gut from the one-two sucker punch behind him. If the blonde one weren't so apologetic he'd swear that was a come on, but he's not about to find out with his lower third hanging from the leg of his shorts or sticking out over the waistband.

“Oh god, Hunk was right,” he whimpers and starts doing high knees across campus, hoping to camouflage his growing problem. “Don't tempt the thirst gods.”

He's puffing for air by the time he reaches the house, glistening with sweat in the afternoon sun.

“Hunk,” he wheezes as he stumbles into the kitchen. “Hunk I'm going to die.”

“According to entropy, yes.” Hunk doesn't bother to look up as he swirls the piping bag along something that smells like sunshine and happiness. “But why this time?”

“I was working out in the quad-”

Hunk finally looks up to cock an eyebrow at him. “In those shorts?” He shakes his head and sets the bag down to pick up some green stuff. “Didn't we have this discussion?”

“-I know, I know.” Shiro waves him off, unable to handle the Look of Judgment in his vulnerable state. “But it wasn't my fault – these two guys were playing frisbee and they fell on top of me mid rep, and they were both really cute and-” He cuts himself off with a sigh as Hunk glances up at him again. “It was just a lot, and I ran away from them.”

That apparently merits a pause.

“You... ran away from them?”

“I _ran_ away from them!” Shiro sinks onto a kitchen stool and plants his elbows on the table. “I was going to fall out of these shorts.”

“Okay no, off.” Hunk snaps a towel at him with a grimace. “Get your sweaty ass out of my cooking space.” He scowls as Shiro scrambles back and out of towel range. “And where is your shirt? Don't tell me you went out there shirtless?”

“No, I-” Shiro balks, patting around his waistband to pull it out from where it had been tucked. “I swear I had it, it was grey.”

“Uh-huh.” Hunk sniffs, wrinkling his nose and leveling him with a look. “I'm sure you did... now get thee away, sir, before you contaminate my muffins.”

“Ooh,” Shiro coos, skirting the edge of the counter. “What kind of muffins.”

“The kind that'll get you murdered.” Hunk glowers and brandishes his spatula. “You can have some in the morning, when you don't smell like armpit and desperation.”

Shiro pouts at him but dutifully trudges out of the kitchen and up the stairs, dripping sweat the whole way.

Lance finds him before he can even finish his shower, barging into the bathroom and hopping himself up onto the sink.

“So, buddy ol' pal,” he drawls, ignoring Shiro's groan. “I heard you were a little parched today in the quad.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Shiro stubbornly continues shampooing, not willing to give Lance even an inch. “I was working out and brought my water bottle.”  
“Yeah, water bottle is right.” Lance's heels kick against the cupboard beneath him and Shiro can hear the grin in his tone. “Rumor has it that Takashi Shirogane was jogging away from the quad shirtless with something about that size struggling to stay contained in his shorts.”

“Lance,” Shiro whines, dropping his head into the tile. “Can't a man drown himself in peace?”

“Nope!” Lance pops the word and starts clattering around near the sink. “A good friend doesn't let his bro be ashamed of the mammoth man-mangler he's rocking just because the beast was hard to tame.”

“God... please-” Shiro bangs his head against the tile, hoping to knock himself unconscious. “-please stop talking. Please... Let's just never speak of this again.”

“ _Bzzt,_ wrong answer.” The clattering stops as Lance hops down and leans against the glass of the shower. “What you need is Loverboy Lance's thirst-be-gone services, guaranteed to get you laid before someone loses an eye on your daily jog.”

“Wha-” Shiro sputters into the spray, eyes stinging with soap. “No. Absolutely not.” He yanks the door open and squints at his friend for good measure. “I don't need to get laid, and if I did I definitely don't need your help to do it.”

“Alright, alright!” Lance scrambles backward from the suds-covered madman scowling at him. “I'm just saying, you need to feed the beast.”

“ _Lance._ ”

“I'm going!”

The door opens in a gust of colder air then clicks shut again, leaving Shiro to wallow in embarrassment in peace.

“All this because of those stupid shorts,” he grumbles, scrubbing down and rinsing off, pausing when he gets to where he's still half hard. “No.” He's not sure who he's talking to.

His fingers tap against his happy trail of their own volition, like they're teasing him for his weak will.

“This doesn't make Lance right,” he sighs and gives in, wrapping a hand around himself and thinking about the two pretty boys in the quad.

* * *

“Okay, so.” Matt splays his hands wide on the 'war table' he has set up in the middle of their dorm. “Game plan.”

He moves a little cast iron boot to a green crayon circle in the middle.

“You're gonna stake out the quad to keep an eye on Big, Thick, and Juicy.”

“Why am I the boot,” Keith cuts in, scowling at the table. “Why can I be that little dog?”

“Because I said so.” Matt wiggles the boot and ignores Keith's huff before reaching for a top hat. “I'll be over here, by the ΘΩΤ house waiting to see if he takes off toward the library.”

“Isn't this a little creepy?” Keith crosses his arms like he has the audacity to cast judgment. “I feel like this is creepy.”

“Creepy is in the eye of the beholder,” Matt sniffs and picks up a GI Joe doll. “Now, when Muscles McGee leaves the house we reconvene between him and his intended destination with the freshly washed shirt.”

“It's definitely not washed,” Keith interrupts again, eyeing it from across the room where Matt has it thrown over a fan for 'aromatic effect'.

“Semantics.” Matt waves him off. “Laundry day is soon enough.” He darts a grimace to his overflowing hamper. “ _Anyway_... we just happen to stumble on him and offer his shirt back – for the low price of getting coffee or condoms or whatever with us.”

“...That's definitely blackmail.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “No, it's ransom.”

Keith throws his hands in the air. “Okay, fine. Apparently we're involved in ransom now.” He brings them down to pinch the bridge of his nose, squinting at Matt's self-satisfied face. “What happens when he says no and _beats us up to take his shirt back_.”

“He wouldn't do that,” Matt scoffs. “We're gonna play it off like a joke, all teasing-like, ya know?” He bats his eyelashes and winks at Keith, voice pitched high. “Ooh, Mr. Strong and Steamy, we have your shirt, isn't that so funny?” He fakes a giggle and flutters his lashes again. “We'll give it back to you over coffee and a blowjob, doesn't that sound nice?”

“Nope.” Keith cuts him off with a palm clapped to Matt's mouth, muffling his indignant squawk. “Not doing that.”

Matt licks his palm, crowing as Keith jerks his hand away in disgust.

“You come up with a better idea then, Einstein,” Matt sneers, wiggling the boot in his face. “You haven't gotten any ass other than my fine vintage in months.”

“I haven't needed to look with your sour grapes on demand,” Keith drawls back, throwing shade at Matt's crotch. “Why spend money on the bottle when you have the box at home?”

“Hey!” Matt punches him in the shoulder with a pout. “Don't compare our arrangement to boxed wine – which is perfectly economical and delicious, by the way.”

Keith concedes the point with a tilt of his head and snags the GI Joe off the board to plant him back on the little square of the frat house.

“What if we just drop off the shirt and ask him out.”

“...Like a _date_ date?” Matt raises an eyebrow at him. “No offense buddy, but that's not really my style.”

Keith rolls his eyes and flicks Matt in the forehead.

“No, you emotionally stunted asshole,” He walks to GI Joe over to the scribbled rectangle marked 'gym'. “We get him hot and sweaty, when _we're_ hot and sweaty too.” The boot and top hat get scooted over to the gym and placed on top of the GI Joe's abs. “Then we offer him the best of our vineyards.”

Matt hums in thought. “While I am usually opposed to physical activity of any kind, you might be on to something.” He claps Keith on the back with a grin. “But if that doesn't work we're doing it my way.”

Keith knows what he looks like in compression shorts – 250lbs of prime rib doesn't stand a chance.

He spits in his hand and holds it out for Matt to shake.

“Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure we can't do recon another day?” Matt's fingers graze the inseam of the cherry red leggings that strain as Keith stretches in front of him. “I feel like we could do this another day and get out of here.”

“M'not fucking you,” Keith grunts from where he's got his forehead pressed to a knee, rolling his neck enough to throw a hard side-eye at Matt's glazed expression. “We have a plan.”

“I didn't agree to the plan,” Matt pouts, making a perfunctory effort to pull the toe of his sneaker back, fulling intending to do no more than a moderate walk.

Keith rolls his eyes and switches legs, curling the other in to press his heel against the obvious outline of his dick. “You literally did.”

“But I didn't want to.” Orange sneakers pap down onto the floor as Matt gives up all pretense of trying to stretch in favor of making himself look as pathetic as possible. “I hate running.”

“Then lift.” Keith doesn't even bother to look up, but the eye roll is obvious in his tone. “Or do literally anything else, there's like fifty machines.”

“Fifty machines covered in the ass sweat of some meathead?” Matt shudders as he squints across the dull grey torture room. “No thanks... I'll probably catch bro herpes or something.”

“Then go to the yoga room and get thotty.” Keith growls, rolling up to sit and glare. “I don't care what you do until beefcake gets here, but if I have to listen to you bitch the entire time you're not going to have legs to walk home on.”

“Rude.” Matt sniffs, thoroughly put out by the lack of sympathy. “Especially from someone who wouldn't even have this opportunity without me.”

“ _What?”_ Keith gapes at his roommate, face twisted in incredulity as Matt turns up his nose. “How is this your doing?”

Matt returns his look in kind. “Uh, I ran over to him?”

The 'duh' goes without saying.

“Oh, right,” Keith scoffs, heaving himself up to stretch out his arms. “I forgot that physically assaulting someone counts as a master plan these days, my bad.”

“Damn right.” Matt takes the opportunity to backhand him in the gut, smirking as Keith grunts and clenches his abs. “And if this is how you repay me I'm gonna have to rethink my plans of helping out your pathetic sex life.”

“Helping out my-” Keith sputters, dropping his arms to swipe at Matt, cuffing him on the back of the head. “Pretty sure we decided the only thing pathetic about my sex life is you, asshole.”

“Hey!” Matt stumbles a step, flailing blindly in Keith's general direction as his newly loose hair flies into his face. “I'll bite your dick off, you little-”

“Uh, gentleman?”

They freeze at the low timbre behind them, Keith bristling as Matt scrambles to shove his hair out of his eyes.

“The uh, sparring mat is in the other room if you wanted to use it.”

Keith can practically see the inside of his skull with how hard his eyes roll, scathing retort on the tip of his tongue as he turns..

“Yeah, thanks buddy, why don't you-”

And has to look up.

And up.

Into earnest grey eyes, smiling down at him as he gestures to the mats on the other side of the gym.

“-show us around?”

“What?” McMuscles blinks down at him, head cocked like a golden retriever as Keith arranges his features from 'snap your neck' to 'break my back'.

“What?” Matt parrots, twisting to see what's going on. “Oh, yes!” He attempts to bat his eyelashes as he ties his mane back. “I don't even know how I got here.”

Keith's eye twitches as he barely resists the urge to kick his friend in the shins.

“Yeah, total gym newbies,” he sighs, reaching out to place a hand on Adonis's forearm. “We saw you the other day, remember? You sure looked like you knew what you were doing.”

“Uhh...” The guy goes red to his ears, staring down at the slim fingers on his arm. “I uh... I can do that?”

“Perfect,” Keith simpers, squeezing gently before letting his fingers trail down the thick wrist. “Now, I don't think we ever got your name, big guy.”

“Oh.” Criminally long eyelashes swoop as he blinks down at them, one hand trailing off to tug on the white floof of hair poking through his snapback. “Um, I'm Shiro?” It comes out like a question as he follows it up with what can only be described as a nervous giggle. “You two are uh, Keith and Matt right?”

“You remembered!” Matt crows, leaning forward to pat a firm bicep. “We're honored.”

“Well, hard to forget a meeting like that.” Shiro scrubs a hand across the back of his neck as Matt fondles him. “Did you two need help?”

“We'll take anything you'll give us.” Keith winks up at him and pops a hip out, letting the stretch pull through his side. “It's so confusing in here.”

“Really?” Shiro's gaze skates down his obviously muscular form, all lean lines and sharp angles with visible abs. “You look like you've been doing alright.”

“It's all good genes.” Matt cuts in, mouth twisting as he pokes at his own noodley arm. “You should see his d-”

“ _Diet,_ ” Keith wheezes, stepping on Matt's foot. “My diet is shit, all good genes.”

“Ah, that's lucky.” Shiro nods, not missing a beat as Matt chokes on the string of curses bubbling up in his throat. He pokes his own rock hard abs with something close to a pout. “I wish I could eat all the mac and cheese I want, but it catches up with me.”

“Riiiight.” Keith squints at where Shiro's finger has bounced off the steel of his abs. “So, you'll show us around here then?”

“Oh, right!” One big hand claps each of them on the shoulder as he ushers them toward the other half of the gym. “So the uh, sparring mats are over here, away from the machines.” He darts a glance between them. “I could help you with your form if you wanted to keep going with... whatever you were doing over there.”

“Oooh, you two go on.” Matt grins, wiggling his eyebrows across Shiro's chest at his roommate. “I'm a visual learner, Keith is more of the kinesthetic type.”

“Sure.” Shiro smiles down at him before looking to Keith and inclining his head toward the mat. “Need to warm up first?”

“I'll manage.” He shakes his arms loose and drops into a stance, one eyebrow raised as he crooks his fingers toward Shiro. “Let's see what you got.”

As it turns out, what he's got ends up pressed squarely into Keith's back after three lost rounds as Shiro forces him into an arch, head down with his arms twisted behind him.

Matt mourns the missed income he could have made selling tickets to this show.

“Do you yield?” The words are panted into Keith's ear as his face gets crushed into the mat and it's all he can do not grind back up into the thick line of cock behind him.

“Yeah.” The sound is embarrassingly close to a whimper as Shiro lets go of his wrists and eases off him. “Fuck.” He rolls onto his back in time to catch the plain concern written across Shiro's face, but really all he cares about right now is whether his dick is still safely tucked into the thick waistband of his leggings.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” Shiro worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he offers a hand up. “Shit, I probably went a little rough, you guys said this wasn't your usual...”

“Nah, he's fine.” Matt chimes in from the corner where he'd set up camp under the guise of stretching. “I've seen him take a pounding much worse than that.”

Keith gurgles out what might be a laugh as he accepts Shiro's hand and lets himself be dragged up, stumbling into his broad chest.

“Yeah, you're good.” He gives one pec a reassuring pat and steps back. “It was a nice stretch anyway, been a while since somebody got my feet behind my head.”

Not to mention any sounds coming out of him were merely the ghosts of the moans brutally murdered on their way out of his chest.

“Good.” Shiro squeaks out, eyes darting to Keith's thighs then jerking back to his face. “Glad to help with your uh... flexibility.” He clears his throat and checks his watch, grimacing at the time. “I've gotta get going though, but it was nice to meet you both properly.”

Keith shoots a look over to Matt, feeling his plan rapidly slipping through his fingers as Shiro starts over to his bag to gather his things together. “We have your shirt!”

The slap of Matt's hands to his forehead echoes in the room as Shiro looks up from his digging, brows furrowed.

“You have whatnow?”

Keith clamps his lips shut and bores a hole in the side of Matt's head, begging for rescue as his friend hauls himself to his feet.

“He means the tanktop you left the other day.” Matt strolls over to Shiro, jerking his thumb at the tumble of gym clothes peeking out. “We grabbed it to return it, the clothes in your bag reminded him... _right Keith?_ ”

Keith nods, lips still sealed.

“Oh!” Shiro perks up and aims his thousand watt smile at them. “That's great, I thought I was going to have to buy a new one for the function next weekend – gotta stay on brand and all.”

“Yeah well, no need.” Matt puffs his chest out and winks at him. “We didn't know how to get ahold of you, so this was lucky wasn't it?”

“Wow, yeah,” Shiro claps him on the shoulder again before throwing another pained look at his watch. “Listen, I really gotta take off, but if you guys wanna swing by the ΘΩΤ house with it next Saturday at like five we'd love to have you. You don't even have to bring beer or whatever, consider it a thank you!”

“Sounds great,” Matt chirps, elbowing Keith in the ribs. “We'll be there.”

“And we'll even wash it.” Keith wheezes, not lifting his eyes from where Shiro's sweats don't quite contain the cause of the sensory memory haunting him.

“That would be awesome.” Shiro hefts the bag onto his shoulder and gives a small wave. “See ya then!” Then he's walking out the double glass doors, perky ass bouncing with every step.

“Really?” Matt hisses, whirling on Keith as the doors swing shut. “We have your shirt? How creepy can you get? You might as well have cut and pasted a random note for it”

“I panicked!” Keith huffs, crossing his arms as his cheeks flare. “I thought he was leaving - you didn't get to be crushed by him, you don't know!” He pauses in realization, glaring at Matt. “And that was your original plan anyway!”

“Oh my god.” Matt rubs his temples before tugging on Keith's elbow. “Come on, now we gotta go actually do laundry before that thing.”

“Well...” Keith's gaze goes speculative as he thinks of the musk still wafting from the shirt tossed over the fan. “It isn't till next Saturday, we still have some time...”

Matt squints at him, unsure whether casual judgment or appreciation of good sense is appropriate. He settles for a disgruntled huff as he drags Keith back to their dorm to 'stretch' and scheme.

The shirt stays on the fan.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday morning finds the ΘΩΤ house torn halfway to pieces by their definitely not panicking president.

“Shiro, my man, my bro, my dude... _calm down_.” Lance groans from his sprawl on the ratty recliner as he watches his former idol scrub the inside of the microwave with manic intent. “I thought you said this thing wasn't a big deal.”

“It's not,” Shiro grunts, not even bothering to look at him as he scrapes at something that maybe used to be a bean once upon a time – and honestly how did half of this even solidify... “It's just a little mixer to get the freshies used to mingling.”

“Then _why_ are you cleaning the entire kitchen?”

“It's...” Shiro pauses, brow wrinkling as he blinks between the blue scrubbing pad and his incredulous roommate. “Uh... tradition?”

“Bullshit,” Hunk chirps as he glides into the kitchen, still robed and slipper clad. “Ol' Beepy hasn't seen a sponge since we pledged.” He shuffles into Shiro's space to poke at a reddish-brown stain near the back. “That was from the chili cook-off three years ago.”

“All the more reason,” Shiro sniffs, utterly unswayed in his determination to pretend this sort of thing is business as usual. “Maybe you should be thanking me instead of asking silly questions.”

“Thanking you?” Lance squawks, rolling up in his seat to lean over the arm with raised eyebrows. “For losing your marbles and banging around before nine in the morning on the weekend?”

“Yeah, he's got a point.” Hunk nods, slipping around Shiro to start a pot of coffee with a yawn. “This is kind of a party foul.”

“Eight forty-seven is close enough,” Shiro grumbles, but he sets the sponge down with a huff and crosses his arms anyway. “I just want it to look nice, is that so bad?”

“Yes.”

The double condemnation from recliner and counter makes him squint in betrayal.

“Shiro.” Hunk sighs as he watches the coffee drip and tries valiantly to ignore the smell of his now heavily stained sponge. “The last time you got weird like this you were trying to impress that one dude – you know the one who said it was him or the snapbacks?”

Shiro goes instantly shifty.

“I'm not getting weird like anything,” he protests, wringing greyish water into the sink with a vaguely cornered look. “You're being weird, not me, I'm not trying to impress anyone.”

Lance blinks at him, head cocked as he slowly shimmies himself upright in the chair.

“Oh. My. God.... Shiro.” A devious grin curls across his face as he plants his chin in hand. “You invited a boy didn't you?”

“No!”

The denial is too swift, Shiro realizes a second too late, sealing his fate with a guilty flush.

“Oh ho hoo,” Hunk drawls from behind him, taking an extra long sip of his freshly acquired coffee. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

Shiro slumps like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Okay, _fine,_ ” he groans, letting the sponge plop onto the edge of a sink with a wet slap, not unlike his dignity. “I might have invited people over to the mixer.”

“People?” Lance snags onto the slip with both hands and a smarmy grin. “As in, more than one person? As in, you'll need Lancey Lance – Wingman Extraordinaire?”

“No.” Shiro grunts, grimacing as he recalls Lance's latest efforts to set him up, running 'recon' that looked a lot more like aggravated stalking. “People as in two friends that I met at the gym.”

“Two people?” Hunk perks up, smile sly as he slides over to squint into Shiro's face. “These wouldn't be the same two from the park would they?”

The betrayal should have been expected, but that doesn't make it cut any less deep as Lance's eyes bug out of his head, smelling blood in the water.

Shiro just closes his own and sighs.

“Guys from the park?” Lance practically flings himself forward over the arm to press his obnoxious face a few feet closer, temptingly within range of a good cuff to the ear. “You didn't tell me about guys from the park... are they the sultry vixens that had your loins stirring on your afternoon preening session?”

“I wasn't-” Shiro sputters, aghast as Lance waggles his eyebrows, sorely tempted to follow through on the thoughts of violence. “They're not... they're just-”

“Scary” Hunk interjects, slurping his coffee long and loud, eyes mischievous in a way that tells Shiro he'll find no allies here today. “Shiro ran away from them after popping a chub in his bootyshorts.”

Lance howls with laughter, slapping at the arm of the chair.

“I knew it!” he crows, flailing an arm to smack Shiro on the elbow, like he's not about two seconds from getting folded in half and stuffed inside the futon. “I knew you needed my help the minute I saw you crying in the shower!”

“I wasn't crying!” Shiro sputters, indignant as he rears back from Lance's waving hands. “I had soap in my eyes, and I definitely don't need _your_ help.”

“So you don't deny you nearly freed the beast then.” Lance narrows his eyes, a clear 'gotcha' if Shiro's ever wanted to smack one off anyone's face. “Your carnal desires overwhelming, right in the middle of the quad...”

“I hate you,” Shiro growls, crossing his arms and glaring between the two of them. “You're the worst, and I'm kicking you both out.”

“Ah-ahh.” Hunk holds up a finger, smug as can be. “You need me to cook for tonight, otherwise your... _friends_... are going to find out you live on old takeout and ramen.”

“They probably do too.” Grumbling, Shiro shuffles over to the package of cheap decorations on the counter and begins pulling them from the plastic – a fruitless attempt at running from his problems. “I just want this place to look decent, is that too much to ask?”

The looks he throws them is scathing, even through the cut-outs of colorful stars and other generic party favors. Normally it'd be enough to make just about anyone fall in line - today, though...

“I'd be more worried about making yourself look decent first,” Lance snickers, eyeing Shiro's stained tank and ratty gym shorts. “Unless you're going for the pity-fuck look.”

“That's more your forte,” Shiro snipes back, lips pressed thin as he stubbornly starts sorting out paper plates by color. “Some of us don't need five hours to get ready for a function.”

Lance shrugs, utterly unruffled.

“Some of us have more balls than abs, pres.” He raises an eyebrow, taunting as the remark lands right where he wants it to and Shiro's jaw starts to tick as he needles further. “I already had my bi-crisis this semester, I gotta be ready to look good for anyone.”

“Alright, easy,” Hunk interjects as Shiro shifts forward like he might come over the counter and give Lance a crisis of an entirely different sort. “We get it, we'll help tidy, right?”

He throws Lance a sharp look and gets a grumble and a shrug for his efforts. Even Shiro relaxes fractionally, knuckles less grey on the crinkly bag as he sifts through the pile of festive nonsense spewed all over the counter.

It's a start.

“Now that we're all agreed,” Hunk sighs, pausing - half expecting to get cut-off and fully prepared to chuck a mug of coffee at someone - but neither seem willing to test him. “Let's just... get today over with...”

“That's the spirit,” Lance snorts, but he hauls himself from the chair and snags a pile of dirty clothes from the floor. It's about as close to a peace offering as Shiro could hope to get.

“Thanks guys,” Shiro coughs, only a little sheepish over his snippy behavior. “I uh... I appreciate the help.”

“No problem big guy.” Hunk claps him on the shoulder before pulling a few mixing bowls from the cupboards. “God knows you're hopeless on your own.”

Normally Shiro might take offense to that, but the microwave is crusty, there's gym clothes on the floor, his shorts are full of holes, and these cheesy party favors won't hang themselves...

And those guys were really, really cute.

* * *

“Okay, okay, act natural.” Matt shakes out his arms and rolls his neck, cracking each joint as he bounces along a few steps in front of his roommate. “We got this, we're cool, no sweat.”

“Can you not?” Keith huffs, tugging at the t-shirt that's so tight it's practically glued to his abs. “You're so fucking twitchy we're going to get stopped for possession before we even make it there.”

Matt pointedly ignores him, windmilling his arms and high-stepping, shaking out his hips in ridiculously crooked strides.

“No can do, gotta stretch out the goods.”

“I'm turning around,” Keith grunts, refusing to be seen with the spectacle that is Matthew Holt as he does his patented hip thrusts. “-and I'm changing the locks.”

Shrugging, Matt continues to stride and waggle, barely throwing a look over his shoulder to where Keith is trying unsuccessfully to hide his face in the collar of his jacket.

“Whatever, shirt thief, leave now and I'm gonna tell Beefcake that you jerked off into it.”

He probably wouldn't do that, at least Keith hopes not. Bros before himbos and all... but it'd be a tough call.

Keith's scowl could curdle milk as he trudges petulantly behind, trying to leave enough space that people might assume he just happens to be going in the same direction as the human disaster nearby.

“You're the one who was sniffing the armpits,” he mutters, not bothering to remind Matt that he'd been the one to throw it over the fan in the first place. “I just wanted to do gym recon before we actually got ourselves into this mess, but no. _Someone_ had to make a scene.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt chirps, spinning around to stroll backward, hips still disturbingly active. “I know, your whole 'stakeout, hangout, balls out' timeline got thrown off and now you have to socialize - what a heartbreak.”

“I'm just saying, if you hadn't been so obnoxious we could've gotten the drop on him on our terms and seduced him there, now we're going into his turf.”

“Relaaaax.” Matt shakes his head, eyes rolling at Keith's overly serious expression. “You sound like we're going into battle, not to a frat party to chat up a bro who thinks snapbacks are the epitome of fashion.”

“Like you don't wanna suck his soul from his dick anyway.”

“Touche.” Matt holds up his hands in surrender, not willing to argue that he wouldn't choke himself on that behemoth in a heartbeat. “But at least I have the social skills required to handle one night of strangers to make my dreams a reality.”

“Social skills my ass,” Keith grumbles, trying to avoid looking at Matt directly. “I had to wash the stupid shirt myself, you probably would have brought it back still reeking.”

“Excuse you,” Matt corrects, finger waggling and grin smarmy. “I would absolutely have washed it, then worn it to bed so he gets a whiff of the goods.”

“Foul.”

Keith shakes his head and clutches the folded shirt more tightly to his chest, like Matt might still try to make good on his grosser inclinations. He'd already had to stop him from misting it with some sort of body spray, like he was trying to mark his territory preemptively. This whole situation was weird enough, they really didn't need to show up to this thing with their only ticket into Adonis' good graces sullied.

“Look, can you just...” Keith trails off, waving his hand in a vaguely exasperated gesture at the entirety of Matt's being. “Act casual in a way that isn't going to get us immediately swirlied by a house full of frat bros?”

“They can't do that anymore.” Matt shrugs, but eases from his best circus performer impression into something nearly approximating a human stroll - albeit still backwards. “It's like hazing or some shit, they've gotta be nice to us now.”

“No they don't,” Keith grunts, glancing down at his little bundle again and fidgeting. “But they might be more inclined to if we convince Shiro that he should let us take him on a ride.”

“Aw yeah.”

The hip thrusts start again, utterly unnecessary and frankly inadvisable on the winding pathway, but Matt seems more preoccupied with horrifying Keith in every possible way than indulging in things like common sense. Keith pinches the bridge of his nose and prays for lightning to end it all so he doesn't have to witness more of... whatever this is.

“Can you please.... please... not?”

“Aw, Kitten.” Matt slows, purring as he lets Keith catch up to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “You know I can't resist you when you beg.”

The arm gets pushed off immediately.

“I hate you.”

“Hey!” Matt squawks, still grinning even as he tries to pout. “I'm just saying it's one of your best qualities, we could have this guy wrapped around your little finger the second he figures out what you look like begging around his cock.”

“Jesus fucking christ...” Keith sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “I should just go join a convent so I never have to deal with you again.”

“You're too much of a cockslut for that.” Matt shrugs at Keith's dour look, wiggling his eyebrows as he bumps their hips together. “Come on man, lighten up... it really can't go that badly.”

Keith huffs a long sigh, throwing a sideways look at Matt's irritating but somehow still earnest face. It's not that things are going to go badly, or that he'll need to be around weird people doing weird things socializing all night... it's not even that his whole plan got derailed the second their initial gym recon turned into something approximating Plan G and thirst overrode common sense and dignity.

No, it's more the creeping realization that he's going to have to make an actual honest to god attempt to win someone over. Someone who isn't Matt, available by proximal default and twice as horny as the average dachshund.

“Fine.” He lets his death grip on the shirt ease up as he elbows Matt back, the hint of a smile curling at the edge of his lips. “But you have to do at least seventy-five percent of the talking, deal?”

“Oh Kitten,” Matt drawls, dragging his appraising gaze up and down Keith's body. “Don't worry, you can be my strong and silent eye candy... the boys eat that one up.”

Keith has to agree with him, judging by the looks they get as they roll up to the porch of the house. The bass pounding out of the speakers on the porch vibrates through the sidewalk as they approach, almost loud enough to drown out the sharp whistle from some bro in a pair of coral shorts and not much else.

Matt flashes a grin and a pair of finger guns back at him but doesn't stop to chat before hopping up the steps and rapping his knuckles on the wall as they push inside.

“Heeelllooo thots!” he calls into the entryway, arms akimbo as he surveys the room with raised eyebrows. “We come bearing gifts!”

Approximately four heads bother to turn in their direction, mostly unamused, some vaguely curious at best. One lanky dude scoffs in their direction.

“God dammit, Matt...” Keith hisses through his teeth, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “They don't like that joke... nobody likes that joke.”

“What?” Matt turns his head to pout at him, crossing his arms with a huff. “It's a good play on words... thot... ΘΩΤ... geddit?”

“Yes. I get it.” Keith shakes his head and lifts onto his toes to peer through the crowded living room, searching for a shock of white hair. “That doesn't make it any less terrible.”

“Whatever.” Matt brushes him off, utterly flippant as he sways through the little crowds and into the kitchen. “Just because your sense of humor is shit doesn't mean everyone's is.”

Lips pursed, Keith trails behind him, regret brewing with every passing moment. The kitchen smells like stale beer in a way that indicates several spills have already occurred, though otherwise it's surprisingly clean for a frat house. There's even ridiculously cheery party favors hanging from the cabinets and door frames – little stars and planets in a smattering across the house. Keith lets his fingers drag across one that's probably trying to be Saturn, glittery and wobbling as it dangles from the ceiling.

“Heh... cute.”

“Aren't they?” The voice from behind him rumbles just this side of too close, startling Keith into a flinch as he whirls around. “Woah there, sorry!”

Shiro holds his hands up in front of him, chest bare and smile sheepish as he takes a step back.

“Oh, it's you.” Keith blinks at him, shoulders dropping from his ears as he glances back at the decorations. “You're pretty sneaky for a guy your size.”

Shiro snorts, an ungainly thing that shouldn't be cute but somehow is when it's coming from a guy who looks like he could bench press a car.

“Please go tell my housemates that, I've been banned from any activity other than leaving in the mornings.”

“Oh, you're one of those.” Keith shakes his head, cocking his hip out as he throws Shiro a playful smirk. “Matt's loud as fuck too.”

“Matt's your roommate?” Pearly white teeth flash as Shiro grins, jerking his chin at the gangling shitshow rummaging around for a drink behind Keith's back. “Can't say I'd be too mad waking up to either of you knocking around.”

He punctuates it with a flirty wink, and just like that Keith is reminded of his mission to ride this massively thick and shirtless man that stands before him into the sunset.

“Well,” he definitely doesn't wheeze as he fumbles with the shirt. “You're certainly welcome to come test out that theory...” He glances down at the cloth in his hands before throwing Shiro a smirk through his lashes. “The shirt's already been tested, but we could always see how the rest of your clothes look on our floor.”

“Heyo!” Matt slides up beside him, yanking Keith's arm up for an involuntary high-five before slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Kitten, that might be the best line you've ever had!”

“Aaaand you ruined it,” Keith groans, not even bothering to shrug off Matt's arm as he scrubs a hand down his face, resignedly holding out the shirt for Shiro to take. “Here, as promised, our ticket inside.”

Snickering, Shiro takes the shirt, grinning down at the two of them with the hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

“You know, you're welcome to stop by any time...” He shrugs, pulling the shirt over his head in a mouthwatering display of flexing arms and abs. Even his hair is adorably ruffled when his head pokes back out. “These sorts of things are open to new friends.”

“Oh is that what we are?” Matt's smile is teasing as he leans into Keith's side, reaching out to drag a finger across the lettering on Shiro's chest. “Good. Keith and I were hoping to get a little... _friendly_... with you too.”

“O-oh?” The stutter in Shiro's voice is as endearing as the way his eyes blow wide, looking between the two of them with rapidly darkening cheeks. “Like what?”

“Competitive checkers.”

The sneered response from behind Shiro almost startles a snort out of Keith, if not for the sour look on the lanky kid's face.

“Mmm, not quite?” Matt huffs a laugh, unruffled by the beanpole's glare as he flicks a dismissive look up and down him. “Not unless Shiro promises to get to our back line in a hurry.”

“I- uh...” Shiro's face twists in confusion as he half turns to his friend. “Checkers, Lance?”

“It's wholesome,” Lance grunts, still scowling at Keith from around Shiro's shoulder. “The kind of game you play with people like them.”

“Excuse me, who are you?” Keith squints back at him, vaguely annoyed that he might be getting cockblocked on what was probably his best attempt yet.

Beanpole squawks, throwing his arms into the air as he stares at Shiro in disbelief.

“No. No way, Shiro. I'm vetoing this right now.”

“You- what?” Shiro, to his credit, looks utterly bewildered as he shakes his head at his roommate, reaching out like he can't decide whether to clap a hand over Lance's mouth or his shoulder. “That's not a thing.”

“It is now!” Lance stomps one foot, leaning to glare at Keith again. “You can't sleep with my rival in the house.”

“Your what?” Keith asks.

“We have a dorm too,” Matt offers.

“The hell I can't,” Shiro rumbles, suddenly two inches taller as he straightens up from his slouch to cock an unamused eyebrow at his friend. “I'm pretty sure your weekend bender with the Adele wannabe used up any and all leverage you've ever accumulated.”

Lance doesn't crumple into a pout, but it's a near thing.

“Shiiirrroo,” he whines, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away from Keith this time. “It's different, this guy beat me on every single test this semester.”

“We have classes together?” Keith squints harder, trying to place the irate kid in front of him. “Aren't you like a freshman?”

It's not the right thing to say judging by the way his cheeks puff up like an angry chipmunk, bony finger waggling around Shiro's bicep.

“You.... you!”

Keith blinks at him, then shrugs slowly, hands half raised.

“Me?”  
“Ugh!” Long arms get thrown into the air again as the guy gives Shiro a disgusted huff. “I can't believe I helped you scrub the microwave for this.”

Then he's stomping away, leaving one very red-faced housemate, one newly informed rival, and a Holt perfectly content to suck down his spiked punch.

“Well,” Matt drawls, glancing between the two of them as he takes a slurp of the mysterious blue concoction. “That was exciting.”

“I am... _so_ sorry.” Shiro heaves a gusting sigh, face pinched in a grimace. “I swear Lance isn't normally like that, I don't even know where that came from, I totally understand if you-”

“Shiro, my very attractive new friend-” Matt unlatches from Keith's side to sling an arm around Shiro's waist, lifting the cup in offering. “Relax, you're all good.” He throws a smirk over to Keith and wiggles his eyebrows. “We know a thing or two about crazy roommates.”

“One of us does at least.” Keith shrugs and snags the cup from his fingers, taking a long draw for himself while ignoring Matt's huff of protest. It's surprisingly good – enough to bring a playful smile to his face as he winks at Shiro's still flustered frame. “You could always make it up to us though, if you feel that bad.”

“I could?” Shiro squeaks, looking between them before nodding like an overgrown puppy. “I- I mean, yeah, of course!”

“Great.” Matt lets his free hand pluck at the hem of Shiro's shirt, lip caught between his teeth. “How about a tour upstairs?”

Shiro freezes like a deer in the headlights.

“Right now?”

“What better time?” Keith leans in, tilting his head up with his best guileless smile, fingers tracing along the thin cloth laying against Shiro's other hip. “I'd love to see the rest of where this came from.”

“Can I-” Shiro starts, then cuts himself off, bubbling with semi-hysterical laughter. “Can you give me like... a five minute head start?”

Matt cocks his head, turning to look at Keith with a shrug. Keith shrugs back.

“Sure?”

“ _Kaycoolberightback-_ ”

And then Shiro is scrambling through the crowd, darting across the living room, and flailing like swan out of water as he bolts up the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh god, oh no...” Shiro wheezes as he panic-flails up the stairs, half crazed and practically frothing at the mouth. “Oh baaaaad, bad, _bad.”_

The door to his room bangs open with a well aimed kick – no time to wait for his slightly shorter arms to make contact.

Or rather, it would have banged open, if not for the pile of laundry jammed behind the door... and everywhere else.

“ _Fuuuuuuck._ ” He screeches through his teeth like a wounded animal, arms windmilling with indecision on where to start. The logical choice would be sweeping the twelve pairs of colored shorts off the bed from where they'd been strewn during his efforts to pick the perfect outfit... but the underwear hanging off his lampshade is an irresistible flavor of shame that just _can't_ continue. “Fuckity fucking _fuck_.”

The underwear go sailing into the hamper, shortly followed by the gym clothes he'd picked up off the living room floor that morning (and transplanted onto his own floor, of course), a shirt that smells like doritos, a pair of socks that look like they're trying to crawl away on their own, and something that maybe used to be a pink pinnie... it's hard to tell between the brown stains and the reek of stale beer clinging to it.

“Nice going Shirogane,” he mutters to himself, eye spasming like it might escape his face and this entire situation by sheer force of will. “Of course you don't need to clean your room, not if you're just going to get their phone numbers and do a little flirting.”

Approximately six empty cans of assorted energy drinks get stuffed into a dirty pillowcase and tossed into the closet – he can deal with them later.

“'Of course it'll be fine', we said,” he mocks in falsetto, stomping around like the garbage can full of tissues ran over his dog and slapped his mother. “'There's no way we're getting laid tonight, it's just a mixer', we said.”

He stops dead, huffing a mutinous breath before spinning in a circle to survey his utterly trashed domain.

“Well _look at us now!”_ he snarls to himself, throwing his arms wide to scoop up the pile of clean shorts. “Aren't we just the Captain of the S.S. Foresight?”

The shorts get stuffed haphazardly into the closet on top of the garbage pillow, immediately buried by the balled up sheets he yanks off the bed, inevitably scattering crumbs from last week's oreos all over the floor.

“Good fucking thing laundry is for squares, right Shirogane?”

He gives the hamper a spiteful kick before snatching the last set of probably clean sheets from the top of his closet, praying they don't smell too musty, and throws himself onto the bed to wrestle with the elastic corners.

“Good thing we scrubbed the cabinets today,” he growls under his breath, inevitably putting short side on the wrong part of the bed and biting back the urge to tear it into confetti. “Those are sure seeing a lot of action right now!”

Of course one corner pops free as soon as he gets the last one tucked under the edge of the mattress, tangling around his foot and sending his blood pressure skyrocketing.

“I swear to god I'm going to burn this whole house down.”

“Aaaaah, maybe don't do that?”

Hunk is peeking around the door frame when Shiro whirls around, equal parts murderous and nauseated. He shuffles his feet with a grimace as he takes in the vein throbbing on Shiro's temple.

“I saw you flail up here and... uh... you good buddy?”

“Nope!” Shiro chirps, utterly manic and resigned to the imminent demise of his dignity. “M'sure not!”

“Lemme just...” Hunk sneaks into the room, just close enough to snatch the overflowing garbage can and leave a bottle of febreeze in its place. “There... uh... do you need...” He pauses, grimace warring across his face as he chews on his words. “...supplies?”

Shiro freezes mid-snatch, room spray locked and loaded as he cocks an eyebrow at his new savior.

“You mean like... better fitted sheets?”

“Uhhh...” The grimace wins as Hunk glances at the bed and back to Shiro, looking like he sucked on a lemon. “I meant like condoms and lube, but.... here...”

He darts into the wasteland, expertly tucking the corners in without dislodging their precarious hold on the mattress, then throws a top sheet on the bed with a snap that has it landing perfectly in place. His mouth pinches for a second as he steps back to regard the bed.

“Do you have clean pillowcases?”

Shiro glances toward the closet with a strange gleam in his eye – as if 'clean' has suddenly taken on new and terrifying nuances that Hunk really does not want to find out about.

Forty-five precious seconds tick away before he comes back with pristine cloth sacks, and like the good friend he is, he only cringes a little as he slides them on Shiro's stained pillows.

“Okay buddy,” Hunk sighs as he squints around at the impressively clean-er but still vaguely horrifying dorm room. “I'm just gonna... go.” He shakes his head and pulls out a pocket-sized tube of hand sanitizer. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Shiro grunts, kicking the last of his garbage under the far corner of the bed as he aggressively sprays the area around the closet. It's about as clean as anyone can expect from someone with as many ridiculous extra curriculars as he has. “Can you send my uh... friends... up?”

Hunk flaps a hand in what is hopefully an affirmative as he thunders down the stairs and into the sanitary part of the house.

Which leaves Shiro to fret uselessly for a moment, trying to decide what to do with himself after shoving the spray underneath his dresser. Posing on the bed seems a bit ridiculous, and taking any of his clothes off in preparation seems a little too presumptuous... after all, what if they just wanted a tour? What if he's reading this all wrong and all they wanted to see was the upstairs of the house? What if they really just meant that they had been interested in pledging many years too late and they were actually prospective new brothers and _oh god he's read this all wrong and-_

“Knock knock!” Matt announces their presence, strolling into the room with a grin as Keith slinks in after him, the both of them as handsome as ever as they enter Shiro's musty lair. “Nice digs, dude.”

“Oh, uh... thanks?” Shiro coughs, smoothing down his shirt, then the bed sheets, before gesturing with a fluttering hand at his slightly bigger than average room. “This is the uh... upstairs.”

“The important part of it anyway,” Keith drawls, smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he leans against the door frame. He doesn't so much as glance around the room, eyes fixed on Shiro in a way that makes him wonder if there's something on his face.

He tries to surreptitiously wipe whatever it is off, to no apparent effect.

Matt wanders in a little farther, brushing past Shiro to bounce onto the bed, running his own fingers over the sheets appreciatively.

“Damn,” he whistles, raising his eyebrows as he glances up at Shiro's nervous shifting. “Look at the thread count on these babies... I bet they feel amazing.”

“They uh... they're...”

He actually has no idea. They're probably not even his judging by the navy blue tones... most of his own sheets are black or purple, likely buried in the bottom of his closet at the moment. Shiro's best guess would put them as a stolen set of Lance's from sometime earlier this semester when he'd agreed to do everyone's laundry in exchange for some favor that hadn't been worth it.

“Fresh.” Keith's smiling interjection saves him from further fumbling as the gorgeous boy pushes off the frame and shuts the door behind him with an echoing click. “Is this what you ran up here for, to make your bed?”

“Uuhhh-” Shiro blinks at him, cheeks heating rapidly as he wills himself to not even think in the direction of his toxic closet. “...yes?”

“Well then,” Keith purrs, stepping even closer to splay his fingers across Shiro's chest, eyeing him through inky lashes so long they should be criminal. “We can't let them go to waste, now can we?”

“Especially since you were so considerate for little ol' us,” Matt hooks a finger into the belt loop of Shiro's shorts, tugging him a step closer to the bed. “Here I thought you might've come up here to start the show all by yourself...”

“The... show?” Shiro blinks at them, reaching up to tug on the collar of his tank top, feeling just a touch flushed at their blazing proximity. “I uh... I could show you the rest if you want? There's the hallway, and um... the bathroom?”

Matt blinks at him for a long second, then turns to Keith with a face like he's been watching cat videos.

“I almost feel bad now...”

Keith nods back at him, equally soft.

“I know right? It's like playing chess with a baby.”

“I... what?” Shiro huffs, letting himself stumble back into the bed with each of Matt's gentle tugs. “Hey-”

“It's a compliment, big guy.” Matt pats him on the back reassuringly as he gives one particularly firm pull to plant Shiro on the bed beside him. “Refreshingly sweet you know... most guys would've been up here with their dick out by the time we got upstairs.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Shiro squeaks out, eyes wide as Keith steps between his spread knees and Matt's fingers trail across his thigh. “I mean... I didn't want to assume...”

“Shiro, please...” Keith sighs, lip caught between his teeth as he reaches out to plant his palms on Shiro's bare shoulders – and _fuck_ if the sound of his name like that doesn't rocket straight to Shiro's dick. “Assume we want everything you've got.”

Clever fingers slide even higher across his thigh, thumb stroking the crease of his hip as Matt leans in to whisper in his ear.

“And it looks like you've got enough for both of us...”

Shiro feels his gut shiver, abs tensing and hips twitching as his brain short-circuits, caught up in a loop of his greatest fantasies come to life.

“I...do?”

If he had the presence of mind, he might bother to be embarrassed about the chipmunk-esque sounds now coming out of his mouth – but the wicked grin shared between the two smoking hot men in front of him makes him feel appropriately like a rodent about to be set upon by predators.

Especially when Keith drops to his knees and licks his lips, hands sliding down Shiro's chest with intent.

“So, what do you say, Shiro?” He purrs, eyes gleaming as his fingers dance on Shiro's waistband. “Will you let us have a taste?”

The gurgle that crawls from his throat must be affirmative enough, because seconds later the button on his shorts is deftly flicked open and a separate set of hands is sliding under the hem of his shirt and up his abs.

“Dear god...” Matt breathes, turning to look at Keith bug-eyed. “There's like sixteen abs under here.”

Keith grunts in approval, leaning in to nuzzle at Shiro's open fly.

“Judging by the bulge there's at least two cocks in here.”

“I fuckin hope so.” Matt groans emphatically, sliding his hands higher to thumb at Shiro's nipples. “Christ, I can't wait for a taste.”

“There's only one!” Shiro squeaks, head tipped back and trembling under the sudden assault. “I'm sorry!”

He feels more than sees Keith's mouth curl into a grin against the thin fabric of his boxers.

“That's okay, hotshot.” He drags the zipper down even further and reaches in to pull Shiro out of his pants. “We know how to share.”

Matt tugs Shiro's shirt up to his armpits, stopping to lay a proprietary bite on his pec before wrangling it over his head.

“Yeah big guy, don't worry.” The shirt goes flying into the corner as his fingers scratch through the smattering of coarse hair below Shiro's navel. “You can go twice, right?”

Shiro's reply dies with the whimper caught in his throat as Keith's mouth descends on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock like he was born to be there.

“Wait til he's got you in his throat.”

The words are a sharp catch against the shell of his ear, hot breath ghosting across his cheek as he stares into the dark eyes peering up at him... right above a set of pretty pink lips stretched wide. He can barely think – can't do anything but let out a breathy moan as Matt trails sucking kisses from behind his ear to his collarbone, hands still wandering in little sweeping motions that light Shiro's nerves on fire.

Keith hums around him, closing his eyes as he lowers his head and draws Shiro deeper.

“Oh god-”

Shiro balls his fists into the sheets in an effort to stop from tangling his hands in Keith's hair - tries his best not to buck up and choke him as Keith's throat works around the sensitive crown.

“Isn't he so fucking pretty like that?” Matt's fingers slide up to cup the back of Shiro's head, holding his gaze steady on the vision between his knees. “Don't you wanna just fuck into that hot little mouth?”

An aborted whine crawls out of Shiro's chest as Keith blinks up at them, eyes wet with tears as he pushes lower, bringing his own fingers up to trace the shape of Shiro in his throat with a muffled moan.

“You know he's got no gag reflex,” Matt continues slyly, like he isn't slowly destroying Shiro's sanity with every whispered word. “He loves to take it, almost as much as he loves his tight hole getting stuffed... you'll help with that too, won't you?”

He can see Keith's hand between his own legs, stroking in time with the bob of his head. It's almost enough to send alarming sparks down his spine, the hint of an end coming too soon.

“Wait-” Shiro reaches down to cup Keith's cheek, letting his thumb rub away a tear ready to spill from the corner of his eye. “I don't wanna-”

A shudder wracks through his body as Keith slides off with a gasp, uncaring about the line of spit stringing between his plush bottom lip and the tip of Shiro's cock.

“Don't worry, stud,” Keith rasps, smirking as Shiro's dick twitches at the sound of his wrecked voice. “We're nowhere near done with you.”

Maybe the warning should concern him, but Shiro only finds himself eager when Matt presses him back onto the bed by a shoulder and Keith shimmies the shorts and boxers all the way down and off his ankles. Their own clothes follow his shortly, and before he knows it there's a lithe body straddling his chest and another settling over his hips. Keith leans up just enough to wink at him as he works long, slick fingers in and out of Matt's hole.

If Shiro cranes his neck just right he can catch the leaking tip of Matt's dick on his tongue when he jerks forward, spurred on by Keith's efforts... but it's almost better just to lean back and enjoy the sensation of Keith rutting against him while Shiro busies himself with plucking at Matt's sensitive chest.

“Oooh fuck, Kitten-” Matt bites out, jerking forward, smearing a line of pearly fluid across Shiro's pecs. “Fuck, I think I'm good, lemme-”

Keith twists Matt's head to catch him in a bruising kiss, cutting him off as he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets.

“He's all yours.”

Then Matt's shuffling back and sinking down onto Shiro's cock without preamble, mouth dropped open into a whine as he's split open. It takes every ounce of self restraint he's ever managed to gain in his life not to drive up into the tight clutch of Matt's body – but the half-pained gasps punching out of Matt's chest are enough to have Shiro grinding his teeth and praying for patience.

“Come on, Matt,” Keith soothes, petting down his friend's sweat-slicked flank before wrapping a hand around his cock. “I've seen you take toys this big before.”

“Toys don't fucking _throb,_ ” Matt chokes, thighs shaking as he hitches his hips in little circles. “Fuck I think he's in my kidneys-”

“Sorry-” Shiro manages to get out on a wheeze, sweat beading at his temples with the effort of not moving. “We can stop if you ne-”

“ _No.”_

It's nearly a growl, punctuated by a deliberate roll of Matt's hips as he fucks himself down to Shiro's base. Behind him, Keith huffs a laugh, hooking his chin over Matt's shoulder as he continues to stroke his cock.

“He's a stubborn one,” he stage-whispers to Shiro with a wink, ignoring the irritated grunt Matt aims at him. “He'd happily fuck himself to death if you let him.”

Which is a bit alarming, Shiro thinks, considering Matt appears to be trying to split himself in half with the way he's starting to bounce in Shiro's lap.

“Are you-”

“M'good,” Matt whines, slapping his hands onto Shiro's chest to knead at the muscle there. “Just fucking... god- _move._ ”

So he moves, bucking up into the vice grip around him like he's been dying to for minutes now, hands sliding down to grip Matt's hips to grind him down. If the broken moans spilling from his mouth are any indication, Matt approves.

It takes Shiro a minute of blissed out thrusting to realize Matt's high pitched whines and the slapping of their skin aren't the only sounds in the room. When he cranes to catch sight of Keith, the other man is an absolute vision – teeth sunk into Matt's shoulder as he rides both the cleft of Matt's ass and the stretch of his own fingers.

“Fuck... are you-?” Shiro gravels out, fingers clenching on Matt's hips and bucking up harder, eyes locked on the twist of Keith's wrist behind his thigh. “You're fucking greedy for it aren't you?”

Keith's hand spasms against Matt's length as he gasps against his neck, nodding frantically into the skin there. It's enough to send Matt into a full body shudder, clamping down on Shiro as he drives up into him relentlessly.

“Oh god, oooh fuck _”_ Matt babbles, arms trembling as he pitches forward onto Shiro's chest. “Oh fuck, fuck, _fuuuck-_ ”

He cuts off with a high, stuttering cry as Shiro splays a hand on his back and grinds inside him, working him through the shivers as Matt spills onto his chest.

“Easy, buddy,” he groans, hips rolling slow as Matt twitches with the aftershocks, whimpering in oversensitivity. “You're okay.”

“M'fuckin peachy,” Matt wheezes, lifting one hand in an 'ok' symbol as he pants into Shiro's pecs. “Holy fuck, I think I saw god...”

“Then move the fuck over,” Keith growls, catching Matt by the hips to slide him off, sending him sprawling to the side. “Some of us need a dick _right now._ ”

Shiro barely has time to suck in a surprised breath before Keith is on him, slamming down to the hilt in one ill-advised motion - riding him like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

“ _Jesus-_ ” Shiro hisses, back arching as his heels scrabble in the sheets. One hand jolts out to wrap around Keith's waist, encompassing almost half of it in a way that'll be burned into his mind forever, but it barely slows the man on top of him. “Are you alright?”

“ _So_ good,” Keith moans, lifting and dropping himself on Shiro's cock like he needs it to live. “God, you're fucking huge...”

“Yeah,” Shiro wheezes, eyes rolling in pleasure as Keith rides him into oblivion. “And you just fucking speared yourself.”

Honestly, he's proud of himself for forming coherent sentences with the epitome of a wet dream bouncing on his cock while his fucked-out roommate sprawls off to the side, idly teasing at Shiro's nipples.

“Love the stretch,” Keith chokes, panting in earnest now as Shiro plants his heels and meets him thrust for thrust. “Wanted to remember... to feel you next week.”

Biting back a curse, Shiro palms Keith's thigh with his free hand, working him up and down on his cock like he doesn't weigh a thing – reveling in the pretty little whimpers spilling from the writhing body on top of him.

“Baby, if you wanna feel me later all you gotta do is come back for more...”

“We'll hold you to that,” Matt sighs from beside him, rolling over to lay biting kisses on Shiro's neck as he strains up into Keith's body. “Now that we know what you're packing...” He lets his fingers skate down Shiro's tensed abs, thumbing at the base of his dick where Keith is doing his best to skewer himself. “I wonder though... would you let us fuck you?”

The whimper that rips out of Shiro's throat is almost embarrassingly needy, especially when compounded by his jerky nod into the pillow behind him.

“God yes,” he grunts, lip catching between his teeth as he imagines the two of them taking him apart together. “Could take you together.”

The words knock a surprised laugh from Matt, who takes the initiative and walks his fingers lower, pressing a knuckle behind Shiro's balls.

“I bet you'd look so cute stuffed full of cock, wouldn't you?”

He shakes his head and smiles, working the tip of his thumb inside Shiro's hole, ripping a gasp from his throat.

“ _Shit-_ ” Shiro chokes out, knees splaying and hips jerking up. “I'm gonna-”

“ _Wait._ ” Keith snarls from on top of him, rolling frantically down as he jerks himself off. “Be a good boy and wait.”

The words hit Shiro like a crack of lightning, zipping up his spine in a cacophony of sensation that sets his veins buzzing. The hand on Keith's thigh slides up of its own accord, batting Keith's own hand away to wrap around his flushed cock - stroking tight and dirty.

“Please, baby-” he babbles, legs shaking from the dual sensations of Matt's fingers and the slick clutch around his cock “Come for me, wanna feel you on me – wanna be so good for you-”

Keith's hitching gasp is the only warning he gets before there's hot release splashing across his neck and lips, pulling a gasp from him as it drips down to join Matt's cooling mess on his chest. He manages about two more shaking thrusts into the sudden vice around his cock before the curl of fingers inside him sends him spilling his own end with a shout that's probably audible downstairs.

Huffing a laugh, Keith slumps forward onto his chest, trembling as he catches his breath.

“Holy shit.”

Shiro can only nod in agreement, patting his thigh with one hand while the other gropes around until it hits Matt's arm.

“I think you killed us,” Matt agrees, stretching lazily before crawling back up the bed to smirk down at Shiro's pink face. “Dick so good it broke my back.”

Shiro shakes his head.

“I hope not,” he huffs, squeezing Matt's wrist. “Shit's expensive.”

Keith nods against his collar, pushing himself up on wobbly arms to ease off Shiro's softening cock with a grimace.

“So worth it though.” He lets himself fall to the side next to Matt, wincing at the stretch in his hips as he trails fingers through the mess trickling down his thighs. “You got any wet wipes in here?”

Shiro nods, groaning at the popping from his back as he sits up.

“In the clos-”

He cuts himself off with an audible click of his teeth, shooting a panicked glance at the closet door as he shakes his head.

“Nope... gotta... hallway?”

Two sets of eyebrows cock at him.

“There's wet wipes in the hallway?” Matt asks, lips pressed thin at the idea of wandering out there still leaking.

“No-” Shiro shakes his head, then cringes, offering a half shrug. “Lemme just... one second-”

Then he's scrambling off the bed as much as his battered joints and wobbly legs will allow, tugging up a pair of shorts onto his sticky crotch and peeking out into the hallway, unconcerned about the tacky fluid covering his chest.

Matt just shakes his head, flopping onto his back with his arms behind his head.

“What a weird guy...”

Keith snorts from his left, rolling over into the comfortable pillows, heedless of the mess spilling from him.

“He can be as weird as he wants with a dick like that,” he mutters, shrugging at Matt's still-splotchy face.

Matt concedes the point with a nod, reaching out for a congratulatory fist bump that Keith cheerfully returns.

Shiro stumbles back in a minute later with an entire unopened pack of baby wipes, two glasses of water, and a blanket.

“I, uh... here?”

Keith cracks an eye open at him before glancing back over to Matt.

“And he's a gentleman... we should keep him.”

“Mhmm,” Matt nods, eyes twinkling in mischief as he smirks over at their host. “He would make a great addition.”

“Oh, um... thank you?” Shiro can feel himself blush as he sets the glasses down and tears open the package, moving closer to gingerly wipe the two sprawled bodies clean. “I mean... I'd be okay with that?”

“Then it's settled,” Keith yawns, accepting the pampering with all the languid grace of a large cat. “You've broken us in, now you're ours.”

“Two for one special,” Matt agrees, shifting his knees to give Shiro better access. “Now we'll have to break you in next time.”

Shiro smiles to himself, still a little incredulous at his luck. It's not exactly how he saw his night going when he got up this morning, though he's still saddled with one burning question...

“So um... does this mean I can get your numbers?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's a wrap. Feel free to come yell at me on twitter @illunelurks


	6. Breaking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what they say about peaches,” Keith snickers, lifting Shiro's hips just enough to tuck underneath him. “They're always better with a little cream.”
> 
> He lets the head of his cock catch against Shiro's rim, pressing just enough to stretch and pop back out, reveling in the high pitched whimpers and jerk of Shiro's hips each time he eases back.
> 
> “What do you say, sweetheart?” Keith leans forward to croon in Shiro's ear, aiming a wicked grin up at Matt's flushed face. “You want to be good? Take Matt's cream and maybe I'll give you another load to keep in your greedy little hole.”
> 
> OR
> 
> Keith and Matt break in their new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This filth is for Narc, whose love of frat filth should be an inspiration to all of us.

The best part about fucking the president of a frat house is definitely the bathroom right down hall – something Keith and Matt have learned to take advantage of over the last few weeks of breaking in their new favorite friend.

“You know,” Matt sighs, head tilted back against the shower tile as Shiro laps at his balls, “A guy could get used to this.”

It pulls a proud hum from Shiro's throat, one that has Matt bucking into the vibrations with a whimper as Keith laughs at him from behind Shiro's back.

“What, too good for the communal dorm bathrooms now?” Keith snickers as he strokes Shiro's cheek, idly rocking his hips against the taut muscles of his shoulder and back. “I bet he'd love to be on his knees with everyone around him.”

The whimper that rips out of Shiro's throat isn't exactly a protest – they'd found out about his penchant for exhibitionism when he spilled in about thirty seconds after Keith bent him over a table in the unlocked chem lab.

“Aww, you're such a pretty little slut.” Matt coos down at him, reaching to guide his cock into Shiro's waiting mouth. “It takes both of us just to please you doesn't it?”

Shiro tries to shake his head, eyes watering and mouth stuffed full as the hands pet down his face. He's not a slut, not really... he's just needy for two boys in particular.

“No?” Keith kneels down behind him, knees splayed on either side of Shiro's hips as he slides a hand down to his ass to toy with his already abused rim. “You coulda fooled me with the way you were begging for it earlier.” He lets his fingers dip in and play with the remnants of two orgasms, making Shiro keen and jerk forward onto Matt's cock.

“Ooh, do that again,” Matt groans, tangling a hand in Shiro's hair to hold him steady as he rolls his hips into that hot mouth. “Fuck, his throat is so tight...”

“Mmm, it's gonna be the only tight part of him by the time we're done.” Keith grins up at him, shark-like as he slides two fingers into the mess and curls, seeking out the spot that makes their pet sing.

And sing Shiro does – little whimpers and high cries that get caught in his throat as Matt presses them back down. What little breath he can draw hitches as his eyes roll back in his head and his back arches for more.

“God, look at him...” Keith moans, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock against Shiro's hip in a proprietary smear. “Have you ever seen such a pretty cocksleeve?”

“Never,” Matt gasps, legs trembling as Shiro presses his nose into his belly button and swallows. “Our perfect peach-”

“You know what they say about peaches,” Keith snickers, lifting Shiro's hips just enough to tuck underneath him. “They're always better with a little cream.”

He lets the head of his cock catch against Shiro's rim, pressing just enough to stretch and pop back out, reveling in the high pitched whimpers and jerk of Shiro's hips each time he eases back.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Keith leans forward to croon in Shiro's ear, aiming a wicked grin up at Matt's flushed face. “You want to be good? Take Matt's cream and maybe I'll give you another load to keep in your greedy little hole.”

His words hit the mark, ripping a shuddering moan from the man between them as he wraps his hands around Matt's hips and pulls him in to thrust down his throat.

“Oh fuck-” Matt's head knocks back against the wall and he rolls his hips in earnest, pumping into that wet heat. “Fuck, your mouth is so fucking sweet-”

“He's all sweet,” Keith rumbles, tapping the head of his cock against Shiro's hole impatiently. “And he'll be a lot sweeter all fucked out in our bed later, won't he?”

Shiro nods again, tears and spit dripping down his face as Matt fucks his throat.

It's a beautiful sight.

Keith wants to ruin him.

“Has he earned it, Matt?” he bites out as he starts to ease his cock back in, letting the head pop all the way in to leak and throb inside where Shiro is clenching down around him. “Should we give him a reward?”

Matt's breath hitches and he nods, unable to resist the eyes Shiro makes up at him as he chokes himself.

“He's been so good... fill him up.”

And Keith does, grabbing onto Shiro's hips with both hands and angling him just right, forcing his back into a pretty arch as he fills him to the hilt. It's a filthy slide, slick from taking two rounds earlier, but still so pretty and pink where he sucks Keith in.

“God, you were made to take a cock weren't you?”

Shiro can only sob, stuffed on both ends as he's slowly taken apart. He's so fucking full... full of their cum already, full of cock, but he still needs more. He pulls off of Matt with a gasp, teary and pleading as he rasps, “ _Please_ -”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Matt groans, sliding a thumb into his mouth and pressing down.

“On my face-”

“Oh _fuck-_ ” Matt grits out, hand flying over himself as Shiro leans in to suckle at the dripping crown. “Fuck, you want it that bad, baby?”

“Please.”

And who is Matt to resist those eyes when they're begging to be covered?

“All yours,” he wheezes, hips bucking into his fist as his cock kicks, painting Shiro's fucked-red lips in white.

Shiro moans like a whore, licking it up before diving in to suck up everything he can from Matt's increasingly sensitive cock, shifting his hips just right for Keith to grind against his prostate on each thrust in.

“Isn't our boy pretty?” Keith pants out, hips slapping against the perfect bubble of Shiro's ass on every thrust, “Should we take a picture for later?”

Shiro whines, mouth falling open at the thought of being so thoroughly debauched and on display.

“So pretty,” Matt coos, swiping his cooling release off Shiro's chin with his thumb and pushing it inside his waiting mouth as he slides down the wall. “A hundred pictures wouldn't do him justice.”

Shiro sucks the thumb in eagerly, eyes closing to bask in the praise as he's knocked forward by every thrust.

“Maybe I'll make him even prettier,” Keith grunts, thrusts growing erratic as he chases his release in Shiro's clenching hole. “Paint his back up so everyone knows who he belongs to.”

Shiro cries out at that, cheeks staining impossibly red at the thought of being so obviously used.

“Oh I think he likes that,” Matt chuckles, reaching between Shiro's legs to fist his weeping cock. “He's dripping.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith folds forward to band an arm around Shiro's chest, pulling him upright to fuck straight up into him. “Are you gonna cum sweetheart?” He punctuates the question with a nip to Shiro's shoulder, eyes molten. “You wanna make Matt yours too?”

Shiro nods frantically against his shoulder, tears spilling down his cheeks as he's teased _so_ close to the edge.

“Go ahead,” Matt purrs, leaning back on his heels and stroking faster, “it's only fair, make me as pretty as you are.”

That's all it takes for Shiro to crumple forward with a whine, hips twitching and spilling onto Matt's thighs below him.

His walls clamp down hard around Keith who bites off a curse, nails digging lines of fire into those plush pecs as he digs his teeth into the meat of Shiro's shoulder and rides out his own release.

It's a massacre by the time he pulls back panting, purple bruises blooming on Shiro's collar, white streaks dripping down his thighs and leaking out around Keith's softening cock – not to mention the wicked red lines scratched across his chest.

“Fucking hell...” Keith gasps for breath, coming down and easing himself out of the tight clutch of Shiro's body to survey his handiwork. “We did a number on you.”

Shiro can only groan, breathing heavily and slumping forward onto Matt to get further into the spray of water.

“M'sore.”

Matt takes his weight with grace, grunting just a little as he runs a hand down Shiro's sweaty back and into his hair.

“I bet you are, you took us so well.”

Shiro looks up at him, hopeful and doe-eyed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course you did,” Keith huffs behind him, shuffling around to grab the shampoo. “You always do... that's why your our favorite, right Matt?”

“Absolutely.” Matt nods, holding one hand out for Keith to pour the gel into before lathering it up and sliding his hands back into Shiro's hair. “The best pillow princess we could have asked for.”

Shiro sighs and melts against him, letting Matt rub circles into his scalp while Keith gently drags a sponge down his back, cleaning all the sweat and stickiness from his thoroughly worn out body.

“Good... I liked that.”

“Well _I_ didn't!” Lance's voice squawks through the door, rattling the handle indignantly. “Can you three stop hogging the bathroom for one afternoon? Honestly, I share a fucking wall with it, it's bad enough to hear everyone taking a shit, I don't need to hear Shiro's sex noises at all hours of the day!”

Shiro stiffens at that, cheeks flaming as he ducks his head.

“Oh god, I'm so so-”

“Don't apologize,” Keith growls, cupping the back of his neck as he glare at the door and raises his voice. “Maybe you should stop listening to us and go piss in the sink you creepy fuck.”

“Piss in the- wha?” The grimace is audible in Lance's shriek. “I'm not the creepy one here!”

“Well you're sure killin the mood bud,” Matt calls back, ducking his head to snicker into Shiro's hair. “We'd be out a lot faster if we didn't have to worry about perverts lurking the hallway.”

“Perverts! You-”

“Just let it go buddy,” Hunk's tired sigh carries through the door, footsteps trudging as he drags Lance away. “The sooner you leave them alone the sooner we all have peace again.”

Keith quirks a grin at Matt, nodding at Hunk's sage words as Shiro sputters embarrassed giggles into the lanky man's shoulder.

“Sooo,” he drawls, rubbing a hand down the temptingly bare back once more. “Anybody up for round three?”


End file.
